Avignon
by auberus11
Summary: Crossover with Highlander. Extremely vague spoilers for both shows. Lex, losing himself in Italy, encounters graduate student Evan Pierce. Implied slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Avignon  
**_a Smallville/Highlander crossover by auberus_

Oh, _fuck_, Lex thinks, because the bottle of Frascati that he's spent the past two hours drinking is not agreeing with him any more, and he's fairly certain that he's about to be sick. Gets carefully to his feet, swaying just a little, and god it's been a long time since he's partaken in this sort of dedicated debauchery. Rome is hot and dusty in the August sun, drenched in the golden light peculiar to late afternoon, and the tourists and natives both move with leisurely deliberation along the ancient streets.

Lex has been sitting idly at a sidewalk cafe for most of the past week, drinking far more than he should and doing his absolute best not to think about anything remotely related to his father, or to LuthorCorp, or to Clark Kent and his beautiful, lying mouth. Doing his absolute best not to think about anything at all, if the truth be told, and the massive amount of alcohol he's consumed in that pursuit is definitely starting to catch up to him.

He drops a few notes on the table as a tip and walks off, hands in his pockets to keep them from going out to his sides for better balance. Slips behind Santa Maria de la Pace, away from curious and incurious eyes alike, and is thoroughly sick behind a bush. Spits and wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his two thousand dollar shirt, dark amusement simmering in his brain at the thought of what his father would have to say about his choice of activities.

"Feeling better?" The drawl is British, but just for a second Lex has the awful sensation that his father is indeed behind him, because those are the words he would choose. Lionel Luthor would not sound so... amused, though. Yes, amused, but there's enough sympathy there to keep Lex's pride from rising up and tearing at the offender with sharp-clawed words. Besides, he is drunk at four thirty on a Tuesday afternoon, and has just thrown up behind a famous Italian landmark. Wincing, he turns, plastering his best superior look onto his face like a shield.

"Yes. Thank you." Said in tones of icy politeness, and combined with the look it should have been enough to send the intruder on his way, but instead, the man just raises an eyebrow that is as effective as Lex's own.

The stranger is_ unexpected_, Lex decides, tall and slender, with short, badly cut dark hair and a face as elegantly angled as a statue, all cheekbones, with a nose that would overpower the entire thing if it weren't for his eyes. They are gold-green-hazel and sharply amused, although his face doesn't show it. Older than Lex, late twenties, and he's wearing a rumpled overcoat despite the summer heat, with a t-shirt underneath that reads _'Qui unium certamen letiferum aspexit omnia vidit'_ over a pair of faded jeans.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he tilts his head to the side, lets his eyebrow slide downward, surveys Lex for a long second, his expression unreadable. There is an eerie moment when the planes of his face are suddenly as alien and remote as the statue of some long dead god, and his eyes are as old as the city they stand in.

Then he smiles, and Lex is forced to revise his estimate of the man's age downwards, twenty-four or twenty-five, maybe, but no older. Not with a smile like that. It is not as innocent as Clark's, but it is full of the profound joy that fades as a man ages, and then sometimes re-emerges late in life. Only very young men, and very old men, smile like that.   
"Evan Pierce." Lex considers this, trying to decide whether to give his name, because if the man goes to the press with this, Lex will have to deal with his father's anger and he does not feel like dealing with anything this week. "And you would be Lex Luthor," Pierce says, and it's not a question. "I own stock in LexCorp."

"I appreciate the support," Lex says, mainly to buy himself some time to think, because this is the last thing he needs right now. Pierce does not look like the average stockholder, but there is an assurance in his posture and the tilt of his head that in Lex's experience goes hand in hand with a growing portfolio and healthy bank account.

"I appreciate the return I get on my investments," Pierce drawls, the sharp almost-Welsh syllables not quite fitting into the drawn-out speech patterns of the British upperclass that seem as natural to him as breathing. He smiles again, a reassurance of an expression that eases the worst of the tension from Lex's shoulders. "Don't worry. I promise not to inform the press that one of their favourite stalking-horses has been debauching himself in the city of the Caesars."

"What do you do?" Lex asks, because he is still drunk, and this man is nearly as disconcerting as his father, although fortunately lacking the malevolence that is Lionel Luthor's hallmark.

"I'm a graduate student," Pierce says, "at the moment." He shrugs, and it's an oddly graceful movement inside the awkwardness of his clothing.

"Where?"

"Oxford. Taking a year off. It had been a while since I'd been to Rome, so..." He waves one hand vaguely at the history surrounding them. "If it's not terrifically rude to ask, why is the CEO of LexCorp emptying his stomach behind Santa Maria de la Pace? I've done similar things myself, mind, so I'm merely curious." He looks it, too, eyes bright and inquisitive, head still tilted to one side.

"Haven't you read the tabloids?" Lex asks. "I'm known for my excesses."

"That makes two of us, then," Pierce says with a smirk, and just like that, the tone of the encounter changes and the air is suddenly thick with possibility. Lex smirks, waving an arm in a lordly gesture his father is quite fond of.

"In that case, Mr. Pierce, would you care to join me in my continuing intoxication?" The slow, lazy smile he gets in return is pure gold, and nearly makes Lex laugh out loud.

"Certainly," he says, voice rich with enjoyment. Then, still with that same easy smile, "Call me Evan."

"Lex." A handshake, something bright and new in the streets of a three thousand year old city, and Evan's hand has semi-familiar calluses. "Do you fence?"

The pause is so brief he almost dismisses it as the product of a drunken brain. Almost. But there is a definite moment in which Evan's eyes go flat, wary, the same sort of look that Lex gets when he probes too hard at Clark's secrets - except Evan is much better at hiding the fact that he is hiding, and his face is normal again in an instant.

"A bit," he admits. "I'm horrendously out of practice, however."

It is a lie, but a very good one, because most people would not be able to tell that the calluses on his hands are fresh from constant use. Lex is not most people, though, and even as he nods he is trying to figure out a reason for the lie. It makes him think achingly of Clark, but it does not offend him, maybe because Evan Pierce does not have the same painful openness about him that Clark does. There is something very secret in this man, despite all of his light banter; a dichotomy that would infuriate Lex, were he sober, and were the man likely to become more than a casual acquaintance. Lex doesn't call him on it and, at least for the moment, he doesn't particularly want to either. Instead he tucks his hands away in his pockets and falls into step with Evan.

After a few minutes, he pauses to roll up his shirtsleeves, baring his forearms to the sleepy Italian sun.

** Finis**

_ A/N - This popped into my head after reading Thamiris' Quicksand, and wouldn't let go. The Latin translates to 'If you've seen one fight to the death, you've seen them all.' Again, this is unbeta'd, and I apologize for any mistakes._

_  
Feedback is better than chocolate._


	2. part deux

**avignon**** (pt 2)  
**

* * *

It turns out that Evan Pierce is brilliant. And not just in the mathematical, scientific fashion that Lex has been searching for in his employees for the past year and a half, but in the true meaning of the word, obscure connections created deep within his brain that turn out to be the only way things could ever be, and obscure facts about past centuries and milleniae offered up casually in conversation as though they are meaningless when they are actually pearls beyond price.

The possibilities for dark humor in his t-shirt are realized in his conversation; not so much in his words as in his tone, as though he finds everything they talk about equally amusing, from Greek tragedy to the social repercussions of universal literacy.

Evan is in favor of the latter, and entertained by the former in a way that most people are entertained by Saturday Night Live. Lex, who has grown up in the epicenter of a Greek tragedy down to his very name, is slightly stunned by this nonchalant attitude towards the way of the world. And he still can't figure out how old Evan actually is. One minute he makes Lex feel aged, holding forth with fierce intensity on the need to protect the environment; the next, he is looking across the cafe table with ancient eyes as Lex quotes Alexander, or Julius Caesar, or Napoleon, and the expression on his face is that of unbearable experience. 

When he spills his wine, he curses in a language that Lex does not know, and when Lex asks, Evan tells him that it is Sumerian. A half-second later, he looks chagrined, and swallows what's left of his glass in one smooth gesture.

"What are you studying?" Lex asks, because he hasn't before.

"Languages," Pierce says, pouring a fresh glass, "and the shifts in culture in Asia Minor during the first millenia B.C."

"I thought most scholars called it B.C.E.," Lex says idly, and Evan snorts into his wine.

"It's an inaccurate label." Again, the sharp vowels are a dissonance within his cultured speech. "B.C. fits, whether or not you personally believe that Jesus of Nazereth was divine. His birth, life, death, all changed the face of the world beyond recognition; what else can you ask for as definition, in a world where no one can prove that god exists?" He shakes his head. "Jesus himself may not have created the change, but he was the catalyst."

"It's not enough to be a catalyst," Lex says, speaking from twenty two years of life as a Luthor. "You have to create the change."

"To control it?" Evan drains his glass, reaches for the bottle. "Never happen, Lex. Oh, some aspects of a change like that can be controlled, but for the most part, it's like trying to swim in floodwater. The only chance of survival is to go with the current."

* * *

_Author's Notes__: This is for **spacecowl**, who asked. It's unbeta'd, so please forgive any mistakes._


End file.
